


A Little Less Obvious

by Indybaggins



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-14
Updated: 2008-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indybaggins/pseuds/Indybaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhat AU, no wives, what if they were just friends and then there was sex one day? Then what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Less Obvious

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a Ryan/Colin story that was just that bit different.

 

 

Colin walked the hallway, silently.

And then there were Ryan’s lips on his. 

He knew there must have been a transition, a door opening and “hello Ryan” or at least a blink or a sign or a flick of his wrist but it felt like there never was, just warm, supple lips, inviting him in, daring him, body pushing him against a wall. 

Truth was he would give Ryan pretty much anything, so when Ryan demanded, didn’t ask but took, Colin’s only thought was “Oh,” and he felt himself respond. 

He’d never kissed Ryan before. He’d never kissed any man, and knew he should have been concerned at the very least, but it was _Ryan_ so of course he wasn’t. He tasted Ryan’s lips and smile and maybe he never thought about it before, but it felt good, so he never protested.

 

Later, (minutes? Seconds?) his knuckles brushed over Ryan’s bare stomach, and it was the most beautiful twitch he had ever seen, so he went down on his knees and mouthed it away. 

When Ryan pulled him up with an unsure grip and shaking hands, it was suddenly serious and fast (like it hadn’t been before) with a knee between his thighs, and he moved and grinded and got the chance to utter a muffled “oh god” before he came in his pants. 

He never knew if Ryan came too or if he just pulled back with a last, desperate sound. Never caught Ryan’s eyes before he disappeared into the hallway, feet stomping in anger. 

 

That was their first time.

 

 

The second time was easier, because Colin both dreaded and fantasised about it first, a memory pushing at the back of his mind, and when it happened it was like a long exhale, a “yes” and “now” and he did get out of his pants and get to taste Ryan this time, although barely. 

And everyone thought it already anyway, had been thinking it for years, that they were lovey-dovey when the cameras turned off and the lights went down and they _were_ close and comfortable friends, except when they weren’t and then there were bathroom stalls and trailer floors, and one time Drew’s office. And if it never felt like sacrilege it was because it never had a name, never existed in anything but glances and the few words they did speak, usually “you…?” and “yeah” and a soft, stinging bite on the edge of a shoulder blade. 

By the tenth time Colin promised himself to stop counting, because there was skin and Ryan and things to discover, and if they never talked about it, well, maybe it just needed to be that way.

 

 

Then there was the paint chip. 

Colin was pressed against a cold wall, Ryan hovering over him, intimidating and worried and warm all in one, hand in his pants, both on their fast, roughly uninhibited way to coming; it was easier now, and Colin spotted a grin. Ryan was _grinning_. 

He lifted an eyebrow, more to convey “what?” than “let’s get back to the program here” because there was the fact that above all (even sex) he still liked to crack Ryan up, and it felt like that should have done it until Ryan used the hand that had been pinching Colin’s nipple to pick a tiny white paint chip out of Colin’s hair. 

And it seemed absurd, really, with arousal running through his body, and giddiness, and it was the first time they actually made eye contact during one of these moments halfway between coming and being best friends again, and suddenly he laughed, a fast burst of air escaping. He could see a trace of it in Ryan too, his grin widening unbearably, and then Ryan lost it, heavily collapsing onto his shoulder, shuddering in uncontainable laughter, his dick still moving in Colin’s hand. 

They brought each other off in the middle of a fit of laughter, and it shouldn’t have been that hot but it was, Ryan twitching uncontrollably and coming in warm spurts over his hand, completely out of breath and _amused_ and flushed and it was like cracking him up on stage only there was sex too. And when Colin at one point said something like “you dork” it was a momentary lapse of reason, before he almost fainted from the lack of oxygen and the orgasm that made him slam his head against the wall and bring down a couple more paint chips into his hair. 

Ryan didn’t run away after that one, but sprawled on the couch and turned on the tv, still shaking his head and laughing a bit, and Colin joined him, ignoring the utterly dirty feeling of a trace of come slowly drying over the left side of his hand, and they watched the Tigers play the Kings until his eyes drifted shut. 

 

And nobody ever really warned him about anything like that, something like “one day your best friend might jump you and you’ll be going at it like crazy whenever you can because you seem to want to” so he should have been ready to admit that he didn’t know what he was doing, but he wasn’t quite, and strangely Ryan didn’t seem to either.

 

They stumbled their way through real sex a couple days later on Colin’s couch, with lube and fingers and condoms involved and it should have been awkward, only they’d known each other for such a long time already and getting on a stage together and letting your best friend fuck you were both remarkably similar when it came to having complete trust in the other, so they managed. 

And it was _good_. What it surprisingly, stunningly kept coming down to was that it was fantastic sex. And there was the heavy knowledge that there were other things involved, such as not wanting to screw up a twenty-year friendship, and work, and possible awkwardness, and the fact that neither of them really ever did that kind of thing. But it was obviously Ryan that had wanted it though, so he tried to stop thinking about it altogether. 

 

 

The months after that were blurry, with him learning every ridge of Ryan’s back, every tender patch of skin and every devastating touch and with more filming and touring and laughing, mainly. They had always been best friends and now they just seemed even better ones because the initial attraction had faded fast and he knew Ryan’s naked body as well as he knew his own now, knew where to touch, where to stroke, where to tickle. They would have food fights and eat off each others’ stomachs later. Quick, slippery hand jobs in the shower or long, lingering make-out sessions backstage that made his lips swollen and red and Ryan look a little smug for the rest of the day. They didn’t talk about anything more than they would have before, just touched, but they would joke into each others naked chests or necks or ears at night, breaths warm and moist. 

And he couldn’t tell if it made Ryan happy. 

Colin didn’t like to think about it much, but he used to be able to guess by the slant of Ryan’s mouth, by the lightness in his step, the crinkles around his eyes, the way he tired on stage. And guessing used to be good enough, because Ryan never hid behind a constant smile then, or worried, or was this constant presence by his side laced with expectation. And the fact that he had never really asked for any of it seemed completely insignificant, now, because they couldn’t ever go back, and he wasn’t sure if either of them wanted to. 

 

 

So he learned to say “I love you” and to be comfortable with Ryan taking his hand in public, and they were almost on their way to getting old together. And it was never all that strange, or awkward, not even when five years later and seemingly out of nowhere they were standing in front of a church and Drew and Greg were their best men and Ryan looked like he was going to be sick all over Greg’s purple jacket. 

And when it came down to having done this with his best friend, it was great in every way he had expected it to be, and even in a couple others. Only sometimes, while lying in bed in Ryan’s strong embrace, he wished he never would have. Never would have kissed back. Not because he didn’t love him, obviously. 

But because he’d loved his friend more.

 

 

 

 


End file.
